PHILIP DORMER STANHOPE, EARL OF CHESTERFIELD. London. 1694-1773. Lord Chesterfield has been too much praised by dancing masters, who cannot read him; and too much blamed by rigid moralists, who cannnot understand him. His great penetration led him to look deeply into the character of mankind; and the picture that he draws of it, is so like, that it cannot but provoke a melancholy smile. To a very young mind, such a representation may be prejudicial, as tending to destroy that ingenuousness in the outset of life, which dies naturally and gradually by intercourse with the world. A man, therefore, who should begin by acting upon Lord Chesterfield's principles, would now become a consummate hypocrite; and he who should not acknowledge the truth of his Lordship's observations in the progress of experience, would be a fool; and thus at thirty we should acquiesce in what might shock us at eighteen. Lord Chesterfield's attempts to lay down rules for behaviour, are vain attempts; the cautions which he gives upon P. D. STANHOPE, EARL OF CHESTERFIELD. 53 points of more serious importance, are those of a father, anxious to pour the benefit of his experience upon his son; an attempt perhaps equally fruitless. He was among the first wits of his time, and filled high political situations. Advice to a Lady in Autumn. ASSE's milk, half a pint, take at seven, or before; alone, There's no pleasure in bed.-Mary, bring me my gown: Slip on that ere you rise; let your caution be such; Keep all cold from your breast, there's already too much. Your pinners set right, your twicher ty'd on, Your prayers at an end, and your breakfast quite done; Retire to some author improving and gay, And with sense like your own, set your mind for the day. At twelve you may walk, for at this time of year, The sun, like your wit, is as mild as 'tis clear: 54 P. D. STANHOPE, EARL OF CHESTERFIELD. But mark in the meadows the ruin of time; Let this be indulged, and let laughter go round; After dinner two glasses at least, I approve; Name the first to the king, and the last to your love : Thus cheerful with wisdom, with innocence gay, And calm with your joys gently glide through the day. The dews of the evening most carefully shun; Then in chat, or at play, with a dance, or a song, Let the night, like the day, pass with pleasure along. All cares, but of love, banish far from your mind And those you may end, when you please to be kind. JOHN CUNNINGHAM. .Dublin. 1729-1778. Cunningham's father was a wine-cooper at Dublin, who won a prize in the Lottery, and was ruined by it, for he com. menced wine-merchant with his new capital, and became a bankrupt. His son, who was then at the grammar-school at Drogheda, was taken from his studies in consequence, and began, like many young men in hopeless circumstances, to look to the Theatre for support. Voice, figure, manner, every thing was against him; he became sensible of his own unfitness for this way of life, but there was no alternative; and having made one unsuccessful effort to better himself, by attempting the trade of authorship in London, he returned contentedly to the stage. The places where he was employed were Edinburgh, Newcastle, and Alnwick, where, in spite of his situation, he seems to have been regarded with that respect which his worth and talents deserved. Cunningham was an interesting man, he had a true love for the beauties of nature, his life was innocent, and, humble as his lot was, he was contented and happy. His Poems have obtained considerable popularity, and are not unworthy of it. EVENING. O'ER the heath the heifer strays Now the village windows blaze, Now he hides behind the hill, Trudging as the ploughmen go, Where the rising forest spreads As the lark, with varied tune, Now the hermit howlet peeps From the barn, or twisted brake: And the blue mist slowly creeps, Curling on the silver lake. |